


The Same River Twice

by butterflymind



Category: Yonderland (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The usual things: an ancient parchment, a dangerous and difficult mission, and the problems of crossing the same river twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same River Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afterism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/gifts).



Debbie was staring at two lunchboxes, in one of those moments when she wondered what had happened to her life. They were apparently identical, both with a picture from something she didn’t understand called ‘Minecraft’ on the front, both with a sandwich, an orange, and a penguin biscuit inside. She was staring at them because despite only having assembled them five minutes before, she couldn’t remember which was which. Two cheese sandwiches, one with Cheddar, one with Edam, almost invisible to the adult eye, but everything to the child’s tongue. One child was only eating cheddar forever and ever; one was never eating it again. Get this one right, and there were two happy angels coming back from school. Get it wrong, and there were two hungry whining creatures, each with the destructive power of Genghis Khan and a grudge, held forever and ever, against the cruel mother who gave them the wrong cheese. And there was no time to make a choice.

 

“Have you got their lunch boxes?” Pete was grasping for the boxes with one hand, the other controlling his daughter, who swinging around his neck like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Debbie made a snap decision, shutting both lids and handing one to the child hanging from Pete’s neck and the other to him.

 

“Here.”

 

“Have you seen my car keys?” Pete had managed to deposit one child on the ground and grab the other one, who happened to be running past at the time. He thrust the other lunchbox into his hands and Debbie sent up a silent prayer.

 

“Have you tried the hook? The bowl? The toybox?” Pete, who had been nodding, looked momentarily the startled.

 

“Why the toybox?”

 

“Mother’s instinct.” And the fact she was fairly certain one child had been poking the other with them yesterday. Pete shrugged and left the room, returning a few minutes later in triumph.

 

“Toybox. You’re a genius.” Debbie shrugged modestly. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of blue in the pantry. She patted Pete on the back and began to usher him and the kids out of the door with a bit more haste.

 

“You don’t want to be late.” She chivvied them along the hallway. Her son opined that he wouldn’t mind if he was late. Or if he didn’t have to go, or if the school burned down and he never had to go again. Debbie remembered that it was PE day and gave his hair an encouraging ruffle as he passed her. She closed the door and sighed, turning to find Elf leaning on the kitchen doorframe.

 

“What, what is it this time?” She asked.

 

“Quest.” Elf said happily. “Come on.”

 

“What sort of quest?” Debbie started loading breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

 

“No idea. But the elders said they wanted to see you. And you know what that always means.”

 

“Yep, and yet I keep coming back anyway.” Debbie muttered, then said out loud. “Right, ok, but if this is about their robes again I’m going home.” She slammed the dishwasher shut. “And I better be back by the time the kids get home. There may or may not be hell to pay when they do.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Explain this to me again.” Debbie was staring at the parchment the elders had given them. It was blank. Totally and unmistakeably blank. No blanker piece of paper had ever existed than this one.

 

“The elders must know what this parchment contains, for the future of Yonderland.” Said Elf tiredly. “I don’t know why. I just take messages.”

 

“I got that bit.” Debbie said. It had in fact taken some time for the elders to communicate this simple concept to them, although it had been hindered by a digression into sweet chestnuts, and an argument about who had the best robes. That had continued until Debbie threatened to leave and not come back. “But that’s a blank piece of paper.”

 

“It’s not blank, it’s just written in moon ink.”

 

“In what?”

 

“Moon ink.” They had stopped off in a small field, at the edge of the main path leading from the elder’s chamber to the town. Elf took the parchment from Debbie and began angling it towards the three moons. The night was bright, the central moon full and the other two waxing and waning. A dull glow emanated from the paper when the moonlight glinted off it. “It must have faded.” Elf grumbled.

 

“What’s moon ink?” Debbie asked.

 

“Ink that glows in moonlight.” Elf said, as if this should be obvious. He was still tilting the paper back and forth. Every now and then light would spark and gutter like a candle flame.

 

“Why couldn’t they bring it outside themselves?”

 

“They don’t really go outside.” Elf said. “And besides, it wouldn’t be much of a quest if they did it themselves.”

 

“It isn’t much of a quest now. Take piece of paper outside. Read it. Not that I’m complaining.” She added hastily.

 

“You might be soon.” Elf said critically. “This is the cheap stuff.”

 

‘The cheap stuff?”

 

“Cheap moon ink. Fades over time. They just don’t make ancient parchments like they used to.” Elf gave up and folded the parchment. “It’s no good, we’re going to need stronger moonlight than this.”

 

“How do we get stronger moonlight? Go to the top of a mountain?”

 

“No, we buy it bottled. Moonbeams in a jar.”

 

“Moonbeams in a jar?” Debbie looked at him suspiciously. “I’ll ask you once more, are you getting these from songs?”

 

“What?” Elf looked confused. “Oh, never mind. We will have to go to the Lune.”

 

“The what?”

 

“The Lune.” Elf seemed exasperated. “The Moon Tribe. You must have heard of them.”

 

“Not a lot of call for moon tribes where I come from.” Debbie sighed. “What are the Lune like?”

 

“They’re fine. A bit… protective of things, but fine. Why do you ask?”

 

“Not mad?”

 

“No.” Unless Debbie was much mistaken, Elf was looking decidedly shifty. “They’re pretty normal really. Why do you ask?”

 

“Just something I’ve learned about names in Yonderland.” Debbie replied. “Where do we find these Lune then?” For a moment Elf looked troubled.

 

“They’re very well hidden.” He said slowly. “I mean, I’ve been there before, but we will need the map.” He looked even more troubled than before. “That might be a bit of a problem.”

 

“Why?”

 

“We lost it. Well, not lost, I know where it is. But it’s hard to explain.”

 

“Well, if you know where it is, why don’t we go and get it?”

 

“It might be a bit hard to get at. And I don’t know how to get there.”

 

“How did you lose a map somewhere you don’t know how to get to?” Now Debbie was exasperated. “And where is it anyway?”

 

“It’s a long story.” Elf said. “It’s in the land of the dead.”

 

“The land of the dead.”

 

“Do you not have that where you come from either?”

 

“Not exactly. Not as somewhere you can visit.” Elf gave her a look that Debbie had long ago learned to interpret as ‘your world is weird.’ “How did it get there? Did someone die? Did you die?”

 

“Of course I didn’t die!” Elf seemed deeply offended. “Do I look like a walking corpse?”

 

“Ok, never mind.” Debbie raised a placating hand. “Well then, how do we get to the land of the dead?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Elf thought for a moment. “Merrythorpe might know, that’s his sort of thing.”

 

“Merrythorpe?”

 

“The great wizard Merrythorpe. Well I say great, he’s more mediocre but he has good advertising.” Elf turned purposefully towards the path, shaking Nick in an unmistakable ‘come on’ gesture. The stick, who had been asleep, opened his eyes, muttered a few obscenities about Elf’s demeanour and parentage, and closed them again. “He’s got a shop in the village over there.” As they set off Elf said thoughtfully. “We better hope Eldred is there.”

 

“Who’s Eldred?”

 

“His partner. If he isn’t, we might not get out alive.”

 

***

 

The great wizard Merrythorpe plied his trade from a shack on the shadier side of the village square, between a pawnbroker and a curious shop that seemed to have no signs or symbols on its vividly red door. Nonetheless, there seemed to be a brisk traffic passing in and out, and though no lights burned downstairs there was a lantern in every upstairs window. In contrast, the hinges on the door of Merrythorpe’s establishment were almost rusted solid, and it took a great shove from both Debbie and Elf, as well as hitting the door hard with Nick, to get it to open. Elf, who had seemed unsettled ever since the conversation about moon ink, nearly gave Nick concussion and the stick was still complaining five minutes later when the wizard came shuffling down the stairs at the back of the shop, alerted by the alarm calls of the birds whose roost had been dislodged by the opening of the door.

 

“Who goes there?” He asked cheerfully as he descended. Somehow Debbie had expected an old man, but instead Merrythorpe seemed young and sprightly, his shuffling caused not by age but by the extraordinary quantity of books he was carrying. Every now and again one would drop from the huge pile, and were collected by a second man who had followed Merrythorpe down the stairs. The pile in the second man’s hands was now almost as large as the one Merrythorpe carried, and the retrieval of each book was accompanied by a long-suffering sigh.

 

“Are you the great wizard Merrythorpe?” Elf asked. Merrythorpe grinned, and unceremoniously dumped the rest of the books onto the second man. His arms trembled with the added weight, but he managed to steer the complete pile onto a nearby table. He leant on the table top, panting heavily.

 

“I am indeed he. How may I be of service? Is it for you my dear lady?” He reached out to take Debbie’s hand, and kissed it. “Or for you little sprite?”

 

“It’s for both of us really.” Debbie said, at the same time Elf muttered “Less of the little, thank you.”

 

“We need to go to the land of the dead.” Debbie told him, before Elf could say anything else. “And we heard, I mean, we were told, that you were the best person to ask about how to get there?” Merrythorpe looked suddenly serious.

 

“That is a perilous journey. Crossing over the threshold of Death’s dominion should not be undertaken lightly. Remember, the night reigns there.”

 

“We don’t need to cross the threshold, only to go to the waiting room.” Elf said. Debbie raised her eyebrows.

 

“The waiting room?” She asked. Elf ignored her, but Merrythorpe answered.

 

“Sometimes when the last destination is undecided, or when there are difficulties, souls must wait to cross over.” He paused for a moment. “Also, these days Death often has quite the backlog, too many people dying.”

 

“How can things be difficult?” Merrythorpe raised his hands in a gesture designed to encompass all the mysteries of the universe.

 

“Some souls are harder to cleanse than others.” He looked at Elf. “You are quite sure the waiting room will have what you require?”

 

“Oh yes.” Elf said, looking uncomfortable. “It wasn’t that long ago. And y’know, difficult circumstances.”

 

“So we are going to find a person then? Someone who died?” Debbie asked, but Elf ignored her and the wizard continued.

 

“The waiting room is a slightly different proposition” Merrythorpe stroked his chin. He was clean-shaven, but looked like a man who was missing a beard. “Still, you will have to cross the forest, and the river.”

 

“Which forest? Which river?” Elf asked impatiently. Merrythorpe sighed, and tugged a dusty map from beneath another pile of books. The pile, which was also very unsteady, began to topple dangerously and the second man broke out of his reverie and dashed over to steady it. He caught the books that tumbled from the top as Merrythorpe strode across to where a desk was hidden under yet more books and papers. He began sweeping them impatiently from the desk’s surface and the second man came over to catch them before they hit the floor. When Merrythorpe had cleared sufficient space, he spread the map out.

 

“Here.” He said, jabbing the map with his finger. “Is the slumbering forest. You must cross this to reach the mouth of the Bourne.” He slid his finger across the map, “and when you have crossed the river you must travel slightly east. There you will find the waiting room.”

 

“The slumbering forest?” Debbie asked. “Is that a literal name?”

 

“The trees sleep.” Said the wizard. “For what is sleeping, but as near as death can be to the living. Do not disturb them, whatever you do.” For some reason he addressed this comment in Elf’s direction.

 

“I’m not going to wake them.” Elf grumbled.

 

“When you reach the Bourne’s mouth you must pay the ferryman for the crossing. Do you have gold?”

 

“I have some.” Elf replied, showing him a small velvet bag.

 

“Good, you will need to cross the ferryman’s palm with two gold coins to gain passage. And you must follow the rules of the river crossing, you cannot bring the dead back with you, and you cannot leave unless you convince the Old Gentleman to let you go.”

 

“The Old Gentleman?” The wizard looked annoyed.

 

“Death. For it is his house you will be entering, and he must give you permission to leave.”

 

“Right, so don’t wake the sleepy trees, and make sure we have permission from Death before we try to get back. Got it.” Elf looked at Debbie. “Shall we go?”

 

“Hang on, how do we convince Death to let us leave?” Debbie asked the wizard.

 

“You must show him that you are not ready to enter his kingdom. Make him believe you belong in the land of the living.”

 

“We’ll still be breathing.” Said Elf. “Won’t that be a clue? And you can show him some pictures of your children, that’ll work.”

 

“To show him I have something to live for?”

 

“To convince him he doesn’t want us to stay.” Elf crossed to the door and gave it a sharp yank, escaping into the street even as the hinges screamed a protest.

 

“I’m sorry, he’s not himself.” Debbie said as she turned to follow. “But thank you very much Wizard. And thank you…” she looked at the second man.

 

“Eldred.” The man replied, from where he was attempting to give yet another pile of books structural stability. He looked happy to have been noticed.

 

“Oh, right. Of course. Well thank you both.”

 

“Why do you need to go to death’s domain?” Merrythorpe asked as she stepped out of the door.

 

“ For a map. We have this parchment, but it was written in moon ink. And the ink has faded so…”

 

“Oh I see.” Merrythorpe said, nodding sagely. Debbie didn’t believe he saw at all, with only half an explanation, but she assumed part of being a great wizard was an awful lot of guessing. She didn’t have time to correct him, as Elf and Nick were already disappearing into the crowd.

***

 

Half a day’s travelling took them to the edge of the slumbering forest. The road had become gradually more barren as they travelled along it, the last tiny village barely more than a few houses that seemed to belong to one large and convoluted family. Having escaped from the ministrations of the clan’s matriarch, a relentlessly jolly woman who served them tea she brewed in an old tin bath and scooped out with a ladle, they had walked through an almost featureless landscape until suddenly the horizon sprouted huge and forbidding trees, whose dark wood almost seemed to absorb the late afternoon sunlight. The sun was low in the sky, lower, Debbie was sure, than it should be for the amount of time that had passed since they left Merrythorpe in the bright morning. She nearly looked at her watch out of instinct, before remembering how futile such a gesture was in Yonderland. Still, evening did seem to be rushing up to meet them, and as they passed into trees the darkness closed in. Occasional sunbeams filtered through, but were dispersed to a hazy golden glow by the strangely thickened air. A susurrant sound was all around them, and Debbie realised that it was the trees, gently snoring. She yawned involuntarily and turned to find Elf looked equally drowsy.

 

“We must stay awake.” She said. Only Nick seemed to be unaffected by the atmosphere, in fact he was more alert and watchful than Debbie had ever seen him, his eyes open and darting back and forth, watching the trees as if they might pounce.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked him. Nick rolled his eyes in her direction, but did not speak. They continued to walk, their footsteps growing heavier and heavier as the whole world around them seemed to thicken and slow. Elf began to drift as he walked, swaying from side to side. He tripped over a loose stone on the path and surprised, caught himself heavily on Nick. The stick in turn let out an exclamation, loud as a gunshot in the slumbering forest. The two trees closest to them on the path opened great, wood covered eyes, black and swirling with knots and whorls. They focused on the travellers on the path, and slammed large branches down in front of them, blocking their way. Looking around Debbie could see more trees opening their eyes, blinking and furious.

 

“Who enters our forest?” One of the trees demanded. The voice was deep and scratchy from disuse, it seemed to come from the entire trunk of the tree, and vibrated in the earth as if it had passed through the very roots.

 

“Please, we are just travellers seeking passage.” Debbie said, as courteously as she could. She’d never had to calm down a tree before, but assumed it would respond to politeness as well as anybody.

 

“Who are you?” The tree growled.

 

“I am Debbie Maddox, this is Elf, and Nick.” The tree looked them over, focussing on the staff in Elf’s hands.

 

“Nick?” He questioned. Nick, who had shut his eyes the second the trees had awoken, reluctantly opened them.

 

“Yes, hello.” He said.

 

“You are not greenwood of this forest.” The tree said. “Where were you grown?”

 

“It’s been a very long time since I was cut.” Nick looked shifty. “I can’t quite remember…”

 

“Where is your heartwood?” The tree thundered, its leaves shaking with anger. A sudden wind sprang up, caused by the trees, who were all awake now, whispering to each other. Nick mumbled a response.

 

“Speak louder, branch.” The tree commanded.

 

“In the west.” Nick mumbled again, his voice only just discernable against the sound of the other trees.

 

“The western woods?” The tree’s voice became even louder and it seemed to grow in front of Debbie’s eyes, shaking out its branches with fury. The knotholes containing the great dark eyes grew wider. “A greenstick from the western woods dares to enter this domain?”

 

“It was their idea.” Nick said sullenly. The tree shook, and all of the other trees seemed to lean in in expectation.

 

“You know we are sworn enemies of the western wood branch. You know that there is black sap between our people that has run since the first roots found their way under this land. You must know that you shall not be permitted to leave this place, and your splinters will be sent back to your cankerous mother on the western wind.”

 

“I realise this is out of character” Nick said quietly to Debbie and Elf as the trees began to close in on them, “but this might be a good time to run.” Even as he spoke more branches were crashing down on the path to either side of them. They fled down the path, dodging the flailing trees. Ahead they could just make out twilight at the edge of the forest, even as the trees tried to close the gaps between them. Suddenly, a root erupted from the path and wound itself around Elf’s ankle. He fell, flailing madly, and the root began to drag him towards the undergrowth. Debbie grabbed his hand in one of hers, and with the other took Nick and began beating the root with him. It drew back and Debbie yanked Elf towards her, setting off at a run. But Elf was trying to reach back to the ground where he had fallen, desperately scrabbling with his hands.

 

“The gold!” He yelled, but even as he said it the slithering root found the velvet bag and wrapped tendrils around it.

 

“We’ll have to leave it. Come on!” Debbie yelled and the three of them made for the rapidly closing gap in the treeline. They reached it just as roots were rising up to bar their way and dived through onto soft grass. Even as they landed tree roots were rising up to meet them, and scrambling to their feet they kept running until the roots fell back, waving like tentacles that had risen from the earth. They collapsed to the ground then, panting and laughing and crying, half mad with fear and relief. Eventually Debbie got her breath back enough to speak.

 

“Friends of yours Nick?” She asked, and she and Elf burst out giggling again. Even Nick raised a reluctant smile.

 

“More like family.” He said, grimacing.

 

“That’s one hell of a family feud then.”

 

“If all your relatives lived for three hundred years and had hundreds of offspring, you’d have some impressive feuds too.” Elf rolled to his feet and sighed.

 

“Pity we lost the gold.”

 

“Typical of Slumbering trees,” Nick muttered. “Thieves, the lot of them.”

 

“What will we give the ferryman now?” Debbie asked. They had begun walking again, down a gently sloping hill. At the bottom Debbie could just make out the winding course of a river, widening into a mouth. The river seemed odd somehow, but it was nothing compared to its opposite bank, which was shrouded in mist and invisible from the hillside. They could just make out a boat now, tethered at the neck of the river mouth.

 

“We’ll just have to use our wits and charm.” Elf said as they reached the plain.

 

***

 

As they drew closer to the bank Debbie could see the river clearly for the first time. Its surface was a glossy black, smooth as marble and so reflective that Debbie might have taken it for solid, if were not for the boat that bobbed gently in the invisible current, tethered to a stake driven into the ground at their feet. The boat was small, but somehow still managed to contain a shack with a tin roof, smoke billowing from a makeshift chimney that perched crazily at its peak. Glancing warily at each other, they climbed in. Debbie knocked on the door of the shack.

 

“Hello? Ferryman?” There was a moment of silence, and then the door creaked open. A woman emerged, casting a shadow over both of them in the setting sun. She was well over six feet tall, and her clothes strained with the muscles of her arms. Tattoos snaked up her neck and peeked out of her sleeves, covering her hands in intricate web-like patterns. She loomed over both of them, and Debbie thought that she would have been truly terrifying, had she not been wearing a pink dressing gown and a pair of slippers with bunny faces, a cloth carrot sticking out of the mouth on her left foot.

 

“Alright.” She said in greeting, leaning against the wall of the shack and lighting a pipe she dug out of one of the dressing gown’s pockets. The wall of the shack bowed slightly under the weight. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Are you the ferryman?” Elf asked incredulously. Debbie considered standing on his foot.

 

“That’s me.” The woman replied nonchalantly, puffing on her pipe. “Name’s Sharon. Nice to meet you.”

 

“We’d like to cross the river.” Debbie rushed out quickly, before Elf could vocalise his surprise any further.

 

“You know the rules? No coming back without Death’s say so, no bringing the stiffs back with you, no arms outside the boat?”

 

“Yes, we’ve been well informed on that front.” Debbie said, thinking of the wizard Merrythorpe.

 

“Well then, have you got the fee?”

 

“Funny story there,” Elf said before Debbie could stop him, “we had the gold, lovely little velvet bag and everything. But it was stolen. By a tree. But if you’d be willing to take us across now, I can guarantee we’ll be back with the fee just as soon as we’ve finished…”

 

“No money, no ferry.” Sharon said, tapping her pipe against the side of the boat. “Do you know how many people don’t come back from over there? If I didn’t take payment in advance I’d be bankrupt in a week.” She tapped the pipe again “this thing doesn’t fill itself you know, and you don’t want to know what the excise duty is on tobacco sent from the other side.”

 

“Why does your tobacco come from the other side?” Elf asked.

 

“Cleaner smoke.” She jerked her thumb at the farther bank. “Everything’s cleaner that comes from over there.”

 

“We could leave you something.” Debbie interrupted, before the conversation could drift further off track. “As collateral, we could leave you something worth the fee, and then if we don’t come back you could keep it.” Sharon considered this for a moment. She eyed them critically.

 

“What have you got?” Elf and Debbie looked at each other, feeling uncertainly in their pockets. Debbie pulled a twig from her hair.

 

“Not much.” Nick, who had mostly been keeping his eyes shut and his mouth closed since the incident with the sleeping trees, suddenly piped up. Sharon looked down sharply and smiled.

 

“I’ll take him.” She said, pointing to Nick.

 

“What? No you won’t.” Nick replied, but even as he did so Elf was handing him over.

 

“Hey! That’s my way home!” Debbie protested.

 

“We’ll come back for him.” Elf argued. “And if we don’t come back for him, you won’t be needing a way home anyway.”

“Just don’t go letting the old gentlemen touch you.” Sharon said. “Can’t have you forgetting you need to pay me.”

 

“And I’ll just be left here to rot will I?” Nick said, now clasped in Sharon’s huge hand. His eyes rolled upwards to look at her. “Don’t squeeze so tightly if you please, I can tell you’ve never been married.”

 

“Four times actually.” Sharon said cheerfully, untethering the boat from its mooring. She gave the bank an almighty push and the boat was propelled into the middle of the river. She rested Nick on the side of the shack and grabbed a giant pole, pushing off the riverbed to move them towards the opposite bank. “All memorialised.” She tapped her left bicep between strokes.

 

“What happened to them?” Debbie asked, wide eyed.

 

“Asphyxiation?” Nick muttered under his breath.

 

“They ignored the one rule I gave them.” Sharon said, concentrating on the pole. “Silly buggers.”  


“What was that?” The boat was nearing the bank and Sharon dropped the pole and grabbed a rope, throwing it with pinpoint accuracy over a stake on the bankside. She pulled the boat the rest of the way into the bank, and helped Debbie and Elf onto grass as grey as ash.

 

“Simple.” She said as she untied the boat and readied herself to push back out into the river. “Don’t visit me at work.”

 

***

 

There was a path leading away from the bank towards a screen of trees, and Debbie and Elf followed it, glancing around themselves. As they had crossed the river a deep night had fallen, somehow more complete than any other night Debbie had known. The total silence was part of it, no birds sang in the twisted trees, and their feet seemed to make no sound on the soft earthen path. The grass was grey, the trees little more than a series of inky blue silhouettes standing out only where bright moonlight passed through them. The air was crisp, with a tang that Debbie could only describe as cleanliness, some instinctive knowledge told her that this was what air tasted like when there was nothing in it but the air itself. They walked in silence, as if afraid to puncture the soundless atmosphere.

 

“Do you know where we’re going?” The words left Debbie almost without her permission, and she looked surprised to find she had said them.

 

“No. But I think we should follow the path.” Elf was uncharacteristically terse, and uncharacteristically watchful, constantly looking around them as they walked. The path sloped upwards, and as they reached the top a building became visible, looming out of the dark.

 

“This is the darkest night I’ve ever seen.” Debbie said. She looked up “yet the moons are all full.”

 

“They say the night reigns here.” Elf echoed the wizard.

 

“Oh right. Of course.”

 

The building, which had first seemed a distant spot on the horizon, was now close and a doorway was visible in front of them. Debbie had the uncanny feeling that it had approached them faster than they were walking towards it. It also seemed to have changed shape, morphing from the silhouette of a grand castle to a more modest house, much like her own. Very much like her own in fact, that was her front door they were approaching.

 

“It looks like my house.” Elf stared at her in surprise.

 

“Have you changed houses?” He asked.

 

“Of course not. You came through my kitchen this morning.”

 

“Only if that looks like your house, then you’ve moved in with my mother.” Debbie looked at him incredulously.

 

“What do you see?” She asked.

 

“My mum’s front door.” He replied immediately.

 

“That’s weird.” Debbie said. She reached out to touch the door, whoever’s it was, and it sprang open. Strange grey light spilled out from inside. “Shall we then?” She asked, injecting false confidence into her tone. Elf shrugged, and together they stepped through. The door swung shut behind them.

 

***

 

Inside the house, a chequered marble floor led the way down a long hallway. The grey light was everywhere, but not coming from anywhere, permeating the house like a clear mist. Unsure, they followed the path down the hall. Debbie saw that the walls were covered in great gilt-framed portraits, containing figures that fled her memory the second she had passed by. Finally they reached the end of the corridor and another door loomed up in front of them, this one a heavy dark oak. It bore a brass plate in very centre, which read ‘Waiting Room.’ A second, less ostentatious plate below it read ‘Please knock and enter.’ Debbie knocked and then turned the handle, pushing the door gently inwards.

 

The waiting room was long and thin, lit by wall lamps that produced an unnatural whitish yellow light. The walls were lined with chairs which seemed to change form every time Debbie looked at them, one moment they were wingbacks of heavy studded leather, the next the wooden armed chairs she remembered from her childhood living room, static orange covers and inflammable foam. A second later they were hard moulded plastic, then wipe-clean vinyl. All of the chairs were occupied, and their occupants seemed unaware of the constant changes, remaining engrossed in books, magazines and papers. More of these were scattered on the table in the centre of the room. They seemed to come from every place and every era, a copy of the London Times dated May 1891 peaked out from under a glossy magazine, and illuminated manuscripts were smeared with the dust of grimy newsprint. The other people in the room seemed uninterested or unaware of their entrance, they held their reading matter close to their faces, and did not lower it when the door opened.

 

“Where’s the map going to be?” Debbie looked down at Elf, only to realise he was not beside her. He had ducked round and appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be trying to hide behind her.

 

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him. He didn’t answer, but at that moment one of the figures dropped the magazine she was reading. She stared at them for a moment, and then leapt to her feet, throwing the magazine on the floor.

 

“You!” She advanced upon them, pointing an accusing finger at Elf, who tried to hide more effectively behind Debbie.

 

“H-h-hello Dahlia.” He stuttered. Dahlia reached out as if to grab Elf, but Debbie blocked her with an arm.

 

“Who’s this? She asked Elf as Dahlia grappled with her, attempting to reach him. “Angry ex?”

 

“Oh I’m ex.” Dahlia said, finally succeeding in grabbing onto Elf’s collar and dragging him towards her. “I am very ex indeed.” Debbie noticed for the first time that her hair and clothes were wet, and that water dripped slowly from the hem of her dress onto the floor. “I couldn’t be more ex, in fact. Thanks to this one.” She held Elf at arms length, as if preparing to pick him up and shake him. Debbie felt she should intervene, and wrestled Elf from her grasp, placing him back on his own feet.

 

“What does she mean?” She asked him.

 

“Yes, what do I mean?” Dahlia echoed. “Do introduce me to your new friend.” Elf shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Debbie, this is Dahlia.” He said at last. “Debbie is the chosen one, and she is on a quest to free Yonderland. And Dahlia…”

 

“Used to be the chosen one, and used to be on a quest to free Yonderland. Right up until she drowned in Moon River.” Dahlia finished for him. She looked Debbie up and down. “So, you’re the fresh blood are you?”

 

“The what?” Debbie looked at Elf. “She was the chosen one? And you got her killed?” She was resisting the urge to shake him herself now. “How can you have more than one chosen one? And how did you get her killed?”

 

“Look, the chosen one prophecy is a bit vague.” Elf was blustering. “And Maddox is a fairly big place. And we weren’t entirely sure if the name translated exactly to Debbie, so we thought maybe it could be Diane, or Deborah, or… Dahlia.”

 

“You weren’t sure?” Dahlia yelled, at the same time Debbie shouted.

 

“Who are Diane and Deborah?” Elf raised his hands in a placating gesture. It was completely ineffective. By now, the other residents of the waiting room had dropped their reading material and were watching the show. This was clearly the most interesting thing to have happened for centuries.

 

“I told you.” Elf addressed Debbie. “I said that most of my questers didn’t last as long as you. In fact, the Elders were very much using that as the chosen one selection mechanism.”

 

“You took me on a quest thinking I’d probably die?” For some reason, this explanation did not seem to have calmed Debbie down. “I’ve got kids! I’ve got Pete! You took me away from my family and you knew I probably wouldn’t come back!”

 

“But we were really sure with you!” Elf shouted back this time. “When I saw you, and the murals in the Elder’s chambers, and by then we were pretty certain that the prophecy said Debbie. Besides, we’d decided we’d only try when we were really certain, after…” he waved his hand in the direction of Dahlia.

 

“So you killed me because of a mistranslation?” Dahlia had advanced on Elf again and was screaming at him about an inch from his face. This time, Debbie didn’t seem likely to step in if she grabbed him. However, Elf was now just as angry as she was.

 

“I didn’t kill you!” He shouted back. “And I didn’t let you be killed! I told you not to swim in Moon River!” He took a deep breath and calmed down. “I said that the Lune wouldn’t like it, that they would have laid traps. I’m sorry you died. But I did warn you.”

 

“I wouldn’t have been there at all if it weren’t for your stupid prophecy translation!” Dahlia was still screaming at him. “I didn’t choose this!”

 

“Well neither did I! Do you think I wanted to keep picking up probable chosen ones? Making friends with them, looking after them, hoping this time we might have got it right, only for them to do something almightily stupid, get themselves killed, and mean I have to start all over again? Do you think I chose this?”

 

“Why do you do it then?” Elf sighed.

 

“Because you can’t get out of a good prophecy.”

 

“I was never in a good prophecy.” Dahlia said, but she had stopped screaming, and sounded more sullen and defeated than angry. Debbie felt sorry for her, but at the same time something was clicking in her own mind.

 

“Hang on. Did you say you were visiting the Lune?” She asked. Dahlia nodded. “Did you have a map to tell you how to get there?”

 

“Yes. Although it didn’t mention that they were maniacs with a homicidal approach to river conservation.” Debbie turned to Elf. The look of fear was back in his eyes.

 

“Is that why were here? To get the map from your dead friend?” Dahlia, who had been looking at Debbie with a mixture of curiosity and slight envy, whipped round to face Elf.

 

“Well, I just thought… I mean, if you’ve still got it…”

 

“You came here for the map?” The screaming was back, louder than ever. “Not to see me? Not to apologise for getting me drowned? Just to ask if you could have your map back? Well you’ve had a wasted journey, because I haven’t got it.”

 

“You lost it in the river?” Elf asked.

 

“Not in the river.” Dahlia’s voice had a smug tone, under the shouting. Debbie was surprised, she hadn’t realised it was possible to be smug at that volume. “This is death sweetheart. When they say you can’t take it with you, they really, really mean it.”

 

“So it what, vapourised?”Debbie asked.

 

“Not vapourised.” Dahlia smiled at her, and pointed at a door on the other side of the room. It was not wood like the one they had come through, or if it was, it was the blackest wood Debbie had ever seen. She wondered how she had not noticed it previously, and then realised with a shudder that she had been instinctively avoiding looking at it since they came in. “The Old Gentleman has it, and you can bet he won’t be giving it back.”

 

“Death has our map?” Elf asked. Dahlia hissed and drew back from him.

 

“We don’t say his name!” She whispered fiercely.

 

“Why not?”

 

“In case this happens.” A new voice had entered the conversation. It was deep, but at the same time hummed with every other tone, a thousand beating frequencies seeming to pass through it. Debbie knew, without darting her eyes to the black door, that it had opened. The other residents of the waiting room turned en masse to look at the figure that had entered the room, their eyes suddenly wide and frightened. Debbie couldn’t help but turn too, and saw first what appeared to be a great black cloak, moving independently. It advanced towards them and as it passed through the glow of the wall lamps glints of white bone appeared, only to fade when the light was gone. As he passed the chairs the occupants drew back from him, as if afraid he would reach out to them. It reached Debbie, Elf and Dahlia and stood before them, seven feet tall and semi-transparent, its skeletal frame only visible where the light of the wall lamps fell across it.

 

“What is this noise?” he asked. The voice thrummed through Debbie like electricity. It examined Debbie and Elf critically. “You are new. And living. Why have you come here?”

 

“We came to seek Dahlia.” Elf said, in his best portentous voice. The moment was ruined however when Dahlia muttered mulishly.

 

“You mean, you came to seek Dahlia’s map.”

 

“Dahlia’s map?” Death questioned.

 

“She had it when she…” Elf waved his hand at Dahlia in a vague fashion.

 

“Died.” Dahlia said. “You can’t even say it, can you.” Her voice was rising, and out of the corner of her eye Debbie saw Death twitch. It was a very familiar twitch, to the parent of small children.

 

“I can say it.” Elf was drawn back into the argument. “Died. Died, died died. You died. Dahlia died. Died, died, died, died, died, died, died…”

 

“I do not like this noise!” Death thundered. Dahlia and Elf both stopped and stared at him. His whole frame flickered into existence for a moment, glittering like starlight, and then faded. Debbie felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the Grim Reaper.

 

“She started it.” Elf said. Debbie winced.

 

“No I didn’t. You came here!”

 

“You started shouting!”

 

“You left me to die!”

 

“You jumped in a river!”

 

“I fell in a river!”

 

“That I told you not to fall in!’

 

“I’m sorry about this.” Debbie said to Death as the argument raged behind them. “I swear I didn’t know about it when we came here.” The massive cloak shrugged with despair.

 

“They’re always fighting.” He said, a sleeve gesturing to encompass the waiting room. “If it’s not how they died then it’s who’s got the latest magazine, or who stole whose chair.” The cloak gave a great heaving sigh. “I just want five minutes of peace.”

 

“I know the feeling.” Debbie said. She calculated her moment, and then added, “Look, would you like me to take him away? We only came for the map really.” Death looked at her imploringly.

 

“Would you? I have so much paperwork to finish.”

 

“Of course.” She waited another beat. “You wouldn’t happen to have the map though would you? Otherwise I’ll have to bring him back again to find it.” Death reached into the cloak and produced a scroll of paper, which he handed to Debbie. As it did so she heard the clanking of coins. The volume of the background argument rose another notch and she decided to push her luck just a little bit further. “Also, you couldn’t lend us the fare back across the river could you?” Death looked at her sharply, and Debbie thought she had definitely blown it.

 

However, at that moment there was a resounding thwack as Dahlia hit Elf with a rolled up newspaper. He reached behind himself, picked up a book and threw it at her, but missed and hit an elderly gentleman sitting in one of the shifting chairs. The man looked startled, and turned to his neighbour, shouting something unintelligible. He rolled up his own newspaper, took good aim at his next door neighbour’s head, and in a few seconds the entire waiting room had descended into a brawl. Death’s shoulders sagged; the cloak managing to radiate more defeat than any piece of clothing should have been capable of. He reached back into its sleeve and handed Debbie a bag of gold coins.

 

“Just go.” He said. Debbie thanked the cloak, and with the expertise born of long practice reached into the fray and extracted Elf by his collar. She flashed the map and coin bag at him.

 

“Let’s go.” She whispered. Elf looked like he was about to protest, but she dragged him from the room and back down the marble corridor, out into black night. As the door slammed behind them the house seemed to almost shrink away, as if it was trying to hide from them. It didn’t look like Debbie’s house now; it looked like a small wooden shack, unobtrusive and deeply uninteresting. Debbie and Elf began walking back towards the river.

 

“How did you persuade Death to give it to you?” Elf asked. He had the beginnings of what promised to be an excellent black eye.

 

“Turned out we had a lot in common.” Debbie said, distracted as she fished in her pocket for the map.

 

“You have a lot in common with Death? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, but…” Elf was cut off as Debbie gave a cry of dismay.

 

“This is blank!” She said. Elf snatched the map from her hands and stared at it. Blank parchment stared back. He turned it over. Then again. The paper remained stubbornly featureless.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“Maybe it’s the wrong scroll.” Elf shook his head slowly.

 

“You remember how the ferryman said the tobacco from here was cleaner? That everything was cleaner from over here? Give me a coin.” Debbie opened the velvet bag and passed him a gold disc. It was the right size and shape to be a Yonderland coin, but its surface was completely smooth, without a single marking. Elf turned it over in his hands. “It’s not just the parchment.” He handed the coin back. “Maybe there’s something about being here, that makes everything clean again.”

 

“Death as a clean slate?” Debbie thought for a moment. “But hang on, those books and papers in the waiting room were ok. And we’re fine, and Dahlia’s memory was certainly fine.”

 

“Depends on your interpretation of ‘fine’.” Elf muttered. “But none of those things actually touched Death, did they. And none of them went through that door.” Debbie shivered at the memory of the black door, although even now it seemed to be evading her memory, the way Death’s form had faded whenever the light was not upon it. “And remember the last thing the ferryman said.”

 

“Can’t have you forgetting you need to pay me.” Debbie echoed. “So, assuming you’re right, this whole trip was for nothing.” They continued down the path for a few minutes in sullen silence. Elf kept fiddling with the blank parchment in his hands, turning it over and over; marvelling at how cleanly the ink had been removed. Twice he nearly dropped it, and once he wandered from the path and nearly into the trunk of one of the tall dark trees. Debbie grabbed his shoulder roughly and hauled him back on to the path, snatching the parchment from his hands.

 

“Look where you’re going.” She grumbled, rolling the parchment up. “Honestly, you’re like one of the kids. And we still need to talk about the way you took me on a quest thinking I would probably die.”

 

“I didn’t think you would probably die.” Elf said grumpily. “Like I said, we were pretty sure you really were the chosen one. And anyway, it’s not like I led the others to their deaths. They didn’t need leading, they were too bloody good at finding it all on their own.”

 

“So you think ‘we thought you’d be fine’ makes it all ok?” Debbie asked, irritated all over again. She shoved the rolled up map into her pocket with more force than was necessary, and in the process dislodged the other parchment she was carrying. It dropped to the ground, where it glowed faintly. Neither of them noticed.

 

“I told you, it wasn’t my choice.” Elf said. “I don’t know if you’d noticed, but the prophecy makers didn’t exactly factor in free will as an option.”

 

“Oh I’ve definitely noticed that.” Debbie was about to say more, when Elf suddenly stopped, and turned to look behind them. She followed, and saw the glowing scroll lying on the ground.

 

“Is that…” she began.

 

“The moon ink.” Elf trotted back towards it, and brought it over, unfurling it as he came. Letters shone out bright and clear.

 

‘I thought you said the ink had faded.”

 

“It had. No moons could be bright enough to do this though, even if the ink was new.” Instinctively, they both looked up. The moons shone above them, all full, the brightest either of them had ever seen.

 

“The night reigns there.” Debbie murmured. Elf was reading the parchment, his lips moving as he memorised its contents.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I think…” Elf said slowly. “I think… it’s a recipe.”

 

“A recipe? All of this for a recipe?” Elf nodded.

 

“Chestnuts. Not a total waste of a trip then.” Elf said cheerfully, as he folded the parchment again. Debbie looked at him in disbelief.

 

“What? All of this for a recipe? And we could have done that when we got here!” She said. “No need to go risking our lives hunting down your ex and the Grim Reaper.”

 

“She’s not my ex. And he wasn’t grim. Or a reaper.” Elf looked confused.

 

“Oh never mind.” Debbie began striding purposefully down the path. “Let’s just go home.”


End file.
